


Princess in a Box

by Wasuremono



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wasuremono/pseuds/Wasuremono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flora Reinhold lives at the heart of a puzzle box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princess in a Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moemachina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/gifts).



> Like most of my postings lately, this piece was written for Yuletide, specifically as a Yuletide treat in 2008. (I know the tag says as much, but I like redundant author's notes.) It was written quickly, and in some parts it bears the marks of that speed writing, but on the whole, I'm pleased with it. I always found the setting of St. Mystere and the Reinhold family's odd place within it particularly interesting; perhaps one day I'll revisit it.

Baron Augustus Reinhold was buried under grey skies, and the night afterward was overcast -- perfect weather, Flora thought, as she climbed the tower stairs. She remembered all too well how warm and sunny it was for her mother's funeral, how that lovely spring weather had seemed entirely wrong to her even as a small child, and it was better that Papa be laid to rest on a day that nobody could describe as lovely.

That night the winding staircase seemed infinite, but at last she arrived at her house, the chandelier's glow casting strange shadows when she turned on the lights. She'd come home to this room a thousand times; why did it seem so foreign now? Every glittering treasure around her seemed only to echo back her father's last words to her: _hide yourself, my dear, for you shall be sought._

Even now, she knew, Lady Dahlia would be writing letters to experts about the strange provisions of her father's will. Soon enough, those experts would come in search of the Baron's greatest treasure, and all Flora could do was watch from her tower and wait.

Years ago, when first she'd left the Manor, Flora had relished the solitude of this little house. It was amazing how quickly a sanctuary could become a prison.

* * *

The day the car arrived at the gate to St. Mystere, Flora was staring out her picture window at the village below, picking at what was left of her lunch. As much as a deal as the veal had been -- and how strange it was to live within means! -- it hadn't cooked terribly well on her little stove, the breading far crunchier than she would have liked. It was still veal, though, and beyond that, it was a distraction from the commotion she could hear even from her high window.

Somewhere down there, she knew, was a potential key to her future: the next cog in the vast machine Papa had started to build years ago, when the first houses had gone up around the Manor and Bruno had toiled to create their inhabitants. The grand design was a puzzle box designed to keep her amused and safe, and now someone had come to solve it.

It was a beautiful machine, really, but that didn't stop the desperate fluttering in her heart when she realized how helpless she was. Even the most beautiful puzzle box didn't take anything more to solve it than cleverness -- not trustworthiness, and certainly not kindness. For that matter, Papa's last attempt at a guardian for her had yielded Lady Dahlia, at best an incomplete success. What happened if the first person to find her was a desperately clever monster?

Flora stood up, setting her plate aside, and squinted down to see the square below. Even from that high up, she couldn't miss the two unfamiliar figures: a man, she decided, in black, and a child with him in blue. It was hard to imagine those two little figures, like dolls on the playroom floor, being the keys to Papa's wondrous machine, but Flora knew to expect anything. Lady Dahlia would have only have written to the trustworthy, and she wouldn't waste her time on fools.

The only thing to do, then, was to take a look herself.

Flora crossed to her dresser, opening the top drawer to withdraw her scarf and glasses. Carefully, with the motions of old ritual, she tucked away her hair and slipped on the glasses, pleased as always to see a different girl reflected in her mirror. "There," she said to herself. "Now, if I keep to the alleys, I'll be able to have a look, won't I?"

As usual, nothing answered her, and the only sound as she descended the stairs was the echo of her footsteps.

* * *

She recognized the Professor from the London papers, of course, but she didn't quite believe it until she watched him and his companion navigate the streets of St. Mystere. The Professor carried himself with a quiet confidence: patient, gentle, and infinitely self-assured, even in the face of everyone who met him on his way. A normal man would have grown frustrated, Flora knew, but the Professor was always one step ahead.

Even as confident as he was, Flora didn't really trust him until their race back up the crumbling stairs of the tower. Even in desperation, he still carried himself as if their escape was a fait accompli; once they took to the air, Don Paolo's infernal machine only a gust of wind behind, she quite nearly felt safe in his hold. Perhaps there was more to him than simply being clever.

When at last they came back to earth, shocked but safe, Flora couldn't help but throw her arms around him in gratitude. It wasn't just that she'd survived that strange evening, or that he'd proved to be something beyond a mere puzzle-solver. It was that she didn't have to break free of the puzzle box -- that he'd vindicated Papa.

Flora hadn't always understood her father, with his ideas and his mad designs, but she'd always loved him and done his best to honor him. To honor him and save herself at the same time... at last, the Gordian Knot was cut, the last piece of the puzzle in place. Everything was solved, and she was free.

* * *

Flora slept all the way to London, and she rose early the next morning, blinking as she adjusted herself to the unfamiliar darkness of the Professor's guest room. She rose and dug her robe out of the suitcase, slipping it on; a glance at the clock in the corner made it clear that it was too early to rouse the rest of the household. For now, the morning was hers.

She opened the curtains, staring out her window at London arrayed before her. It wasn't long after dawn, new light filtering through the morning haze, and the city seemed almost too large to be real. "Oh, brave new world, that has such people in it," Flora whispered, her mind already soaring to the possibilities of the city. St. Mystere, for all its riddles, had only been one village and the masterwork of two men; here was a city sprung from all of human toil, a world she could barely imagine.

Flora was ready. The puzzles, the games, the waiting -- it had all been a perfect childhood for the world of wonder beyond her village's borders, she realized with the slow inevitability of the dawn. The Professor had freed her, but St. Mystere had made her ready to be free.

Across the skyline, the flocks of city birds flew through the clearing clouds. On a morning like this, Flora thought, she could follow them.


End file.
